Untying Knots
by Moriarty's Diary
Summary: Sherlock Holmes has always thought of himself as John Watson has always thought of himself as The unlikely pair had fallen for one another, and attempted to pursue a Despite the harsh, cruel reality of society, could they overcome the shame thrown their way? Or will the jealousy of a madman come between them? Johnlock & Non
1. Prologue

Prologue

In the modern world, homosexuality is seen as a sin by the majority of the world. Some say it is because it is unnatural for two specimens of the same gender to be in a relationship together because humans were made to reproduce. Others say that it is disgusting to see them expressing their affection towards each other in public.

Homosexuality is not a sin. Humans were made to love, support and care for one another. They were made for survival. How could you survive in a world with such a cruel society? How could you not have someone that you can trust wholly to express your feelings and inner thoughts to, when you know that others would judge you?

Loving someone is unconditional and love has no boundaries. Gender shouldn't be a cement wall separating you from the love you deserve. Gender should not matter at all. So, why do people have the desire to shame others based on their sexuality? Even so, cruel words don't hurt everyone.

In a world full of inequality, John Watson and Sherlock Holmes find themselves falling for each other slowly.

Despite the unforgettable opinions of others, both don't care.

After all, everyone deserves love, right?


	2. Skyfall

Chapter 1

"John, I told you to ignore them. Ignore them all. They're just ignorant and they don't understand." Sherlock said, both of his hands placed firmly on either side of John's face. John was looking at Sherlock with worry, sadness and pain. John could easily explain why he was feeling so sad and hurt, but worry? He couldn't understand why he was worried.

John didn't reply to Sherlock's words. He looked away, out of their flat's window. John was sitting on a chair, and Sherlock was kneeling in front of him, but still tall enough to reach John's eye level. Sherlock let John go, his hands retreating back to his sides. He didn't know what to do, what could he do to make John feel better? Why do people have to be so rude?

Earlier on, when John was out getting food, a stranger from across the street called him a fag. Then five minutes later, someone called him a gay retard. How those strangers knew about his somewhat discrete relationship, he didn't know. Maybe he was overreacting, maybe these strangers were having a bad day and decided to shout out insults without really knowing the facts, but that was way too much of a coincidence.

"This isn't fair for you either, Sherlock." John croaked, fighting the growing lump in his throat. It hurt for him to swallow, and he tried hard not to cry.

Sherlock frowned slightly. "How?"

John glanced at Sherlock for a slight second and looked away, desperately trying to hide his tears of frustration.

"Your reputation. I'm ruining it. No one wants to hire you for cases anymore because of...of _us_. They think we're freaks, the devil's joke. And how are you taking this? Are you just going to ignore them like you say?" John queried, ignoring the slight voice crack.

Sherlock was shaking his head before John managed to finish his sentence. "No, no, that doesn't matter to me. Lestrade doesn't mind us, and he's already given me a case."

"It's still not-"

"John, please, stop it. Stop this. We're fine, I'm fine." Sherlock reassured him.

Of course, Sherlock noticed John's tears, but thought it was better to pretend he didn't acknowledge them. When someone tries hard to hide their tears, sometimes it's noble not notice them. Sherlock knew that much.

John slyly wiped his face harshly with his arm. Sherlock looked down, his eyes burning.

John stood up suddenly, walking past Sherlock.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock queried, his eyebrows making a creased line between them.

John looked over his shoulder, just barely staring at Sherlock.

"Out." John mumbled, and he swallowed.

He needed time to himself. This whole relationship was still fairly new to him, and trying to get used to the fact that others aren't okay with it will take a while. But for now, he needed to think. Just think about everything, to work up confidence to ignore others or stand up to them. This is Captain John Watson they're dealing with!

"When will you be back?" Sherlock murmured, but he knew it wouldn't be for a while.

John took a step out the door, still holding onto the doorknob.

"I don't know." He replied, then slammed the door behind him.


	3. Little Talks

Chapter 2

John didn't know where he was going. Metaphorically, it killed him to walk out on Sherlock like that, without giving Sherlock a simple explanation to where he was going. But he needed his space, even just for a little bit.

Walking down the familiar, crowded sidewalks of London, John let his mind wander off, hoping that something else would take his mind off of things.

It was only moments later when John received a text message, did he actually realize where his legs had brought him; to a coffee shop. It was already cold and rainy outside, so John decided to warm up inside and grab a coffee. John stood in line behind a couple of other people, completely forgetting about the text message he had received.

"John? John Watson?" A perky voice queried.

John turned around, his eyes darting from person to person in line before landing on a face he recognized. It was a girl named Jen, whom he had dated a while before breaking it off with her. They had dated for two years, and then a year later, John moved in with Sherlock. Jen was heartbroken, but she had understood.

"Oh, Jen." John greeted her. They both stepped out of line.

Jen smiled. She was still very pretty, her grey eyes still friendly and her shiny, brown hair still in beach curls and it now reached just before mid-waist.

"How've you been? It's been a while!" She said, lightly tapping his arm.

John shrugged. "Everything's fine. How are you?"

"Good, good."

As they took a seat together at a table, time went by quickly. Two hours had gone by, both of them still talking and occasionally laughing at memories or stories that had happened recently.

"Oh my god, I'm going to be late for my audition!" Jen gasped, quickly checking her purse for her cellphone and car keys.

John swallowed the coffee he was drinking.

"Audition? You mean, you're an actress now?" John asked. After hours of talking, she had never mentioned that.

Jen nodded. "Yeah, I just got an agent about a month ago and she's already getting me auditions everywhere. It's quite exciting, really. I haven't gotten a callback yet, but I still have my hopes up."

John genuinely smiled. "That's great, Jen. I'm glad you're happy."

Jen looked at him thoughtfully for a second and smiled widely. "Thanks, John." She got up and took her coat that hung on the back of her seat.

"It was great catching up with you again." She said and unexpectedly, kissed him on the cheek. "I've missed you."

John blushed and had trouble coming up with words to say. "L...likewise."

"Anyway, I must be off. I'd like to talk to you again, my number's still the same. Have you got it?" She inquired.

John nodded, his lips slightly parted and he gaped at her in awe.

"Great." She shrugged her coat on and held her bag. "I hope to hear from you soon."

Then Jen walked out of the coffee shop, softly smiling at John through the windows. John just stared.

Minutes later, John received a text message.

_John, where are you?  
Are you all right?_

SH

John didn't really want to talk. So, he shoved his cellphone back into the pocket of his coat and left the coffee shop.

Maybe he would call Jen later.


	4. Just Friends

Chapter 3

It was four in the afternoon when John finally decided to give Jen a call.

It rung two, three, four times and just when he was about to give up, she answered the phone.

"Hello?" The cheery voice greeted.

"Jen?" John answered.

"John! You decided to call." Jen remarked.

They talked for a little over five minutes about nothing in particular. It was just a typical phone call to a friend.

"Would you like to come over for dinner?" Jen asked, and a brief moment of silence passed between both lines.

"Sure." John responded.

You could practically hear the smile in Jen's voice. "Great, here's my address."

John wrote her address down on his forearm and they bid their farewells and hung up. Once John pressed the 'End' button, he realized that he had missed a text message earlier on that day. He opened it and began to read.

_John...?  
_

_SH_

John sighed, his heart feeling heavy immediately. What would Sherlock think if John told him he was having dinner with his ex-girlfriend? But Jen's just a friend, and Sherlock could certainly wait just a little while longer. He shouldn't worry; John's a grown man and he does have friends.

* * *

Sherlock lid down on the couch, his arms at his sides and his eyes staring up at the ceiling. He missed John's presence immediately after he stormed out. Sherlock knew he didn't do anything wrong, but he couldn't help but feel guilty for making John feel so insecure about their relationship. Maybe it was a bad idea to pursue one in the first place.

Why couldn't others mind their own business? Why couldn't they focus on their own relationships? Why do they have to pick on others and act rude? Nothing is wrong with gay couples, or any couples at all! Couldn't they just leave them alone? Let them love each other?

Sherlock didn't understand. It was the only think he didn't understand - except for the Solar System of course. There was no need for such nonsense. Humans live on Earth, and until they have proof that there are other living specimens on another planet, then he doesn't need to know what's out in the universe.

Sherlock reached over the table and grabbed his phone. Still not text from John. There was one from Mycroft, instead.

Sherlock opened the attached file that his older brother sent him, and frowned ever so slightly at the photo.

It was of John sitting in the coffee shop, across from a brunette. He was smiling. From the angle that the picture was taken, it didn't give any hint of the brunette's identity.

With that attachment, came a message.

_I've never seen her before  
I bet you never did either  
She's John's old friend  
I just thought you should  
know, considering that little  
hasty exit John made not too  
long ago._

_Don't call - I've got business_

_MH_

Sherlock frowned even more. Damn Mycroft and his spying. But that was the least of Sherlock's concerns. John was out with a brunette? An old friend? Surely, Sherlock shouldn't be so worried. John's faithful, and they were only friends, as Mycroft put it. But it still bothered him.

Sherlock glanced at the time. Six thirty in the evening and John hasn't come back yet. He didn't so much as text. But John's a grown man, he can take care of himself.

He did say he needed time to think.

Sherlock rolled over on the couch, facing the backrest. He sighed and was drawn into unconsciousness.


	5. This Kiss

**Hello, everybody. I hope you are enjoying the story so far. Sorry the chapters are short.  
Please review, my dear Sherlockians. (:**

* * *

Chapter 4

"I'm glad you made it." Jen said, embracing John in a long hug.

John returned the hug. "I wasn't planning on ditching."

Jen pulled away. "I would hope not!"

John smiled and followed after Jen who led him into the living room and offered him a seat on the couch.

"Coffee? Tea?" She asked, her body turning towards the kitchen.

"Tea would be lovely." John commented, clasping his hands together and sitting back comfortably on her couch.

The telly was on, nothing peculiarly grasping John's attention. Jen came back no more than two minutes later, with piping hot tea.

"Here." She said, placing the cup on a coaster.

"Thank you." John murmured.

Jen took a seat, her own cup settling between her small hands.

"Any love interests, John?" Jen said, a small smirk playing on her lips.

John swallowed and blinked.

"It's...complicated." John hesitated, and then sighed.

Jen's brows furrowed slightly and she placed her cup on the table.

"What's wrong?" She inquired. Jen had a gift of knowing when things weren't right. She can easily just tell, by the slightest frown or the emotion in your eyes.

"It's really nothing, Jen. No worries." John said, smiling half-heartedly.

"John, you can tell me, you know. I'm still your friend." She said, her words so sincere and trusting.

He let out a puff. "I..." John began, and then look away, shaking his head slightly. "I love someone...but society thinks it is immoral."

Jen's eyes wandered for a second before widening in realization.

"Oh, John." She said, got up and sat next to John. "People can be so cruel."

John nodded and bit his lower lip. "I know that...I don't know if I can do this anymore."

Jen frowned. "Why?"

"It's not fair to him. His reputation-"

"Who is he?" Jen interjected, curiously.

John closed his eyes, an immediate image of a tall man with beautiful, dark locks embroidering an angular face. The eyes stood out the most to John, though. The striking colors of the rainbow all mangled into the irises of a brilliant man that he has the blessing to call his own.

"Sherlock. His name is Sherlock Holmes." John said, the name just rolling off his tongue.

Jen smiled. "He is a very lucky man."

John shook his head. "I can't just let our relationship ruin him and..."

Jen laid a hand on John's shoulder. "John, you can tell me anything, okay? I'm here for you."

John looked up into Jen's soft, brown eyes.

"I know." He whispered.

Then he kissed her.


	6. Suspicion

Chapter 5

Jen pulled away abruptly, her expression bewildered and surprised.

"J-John!" She whispered harshly.

John pressed his lips firmly together, looking down at the coffee table. Oh god, what did he just do?!

"You're in a relationship! What are you thinking?" Jen said, standing up quickly and making her way to the kitchen.

John stood up, feeling very confused, and followed after her.

"Jen, I'm sorry! I am." John apologized.

Jen turned around, her bottom lip trembling as she braced herself. John had just kissed her. She should be feeling bad, but she doesn't. She liked it. You could even say that she kissed back for a second or two.

"This doesn't leave the room." She said immediately, her tone firm and demanding.

After a long pause, John finally broke the silence.

"I should go." John said, and left Jen's flat without a second thought.

Jen stood in her kitchen for hours, motionless.

* * *

Sherlock woke up from the sound of footsteps and the closing of a door. His vision was a tad bit blurry, but it was logical seeing as he had just woken up.

"John?" Sherlock slurred, as the moonlight streaming through the windows reflected off a shadowed figure's head.

The figure stood still and its head turned slightly.

"Oh, Sherlock, you're awake." John stated.

Sherlock sat up straight, still feeling groggy and disoriented.

"Where have you been?" Sherlock queried, and immediately noticed how John's posture straightened.

"Nowhere." John muttered firmly.

Sherlock leaned over the couch and flicked the light switch on. The room was instantly brightened, revealing all evidence on John's body.

John's fingers were twitching, showing signs of stress. His hair was messy and tangled, like he was pulling at it and running his fingers through it too much. Then there was his lips, a little bit swollen with a light pink stain.

Sherlock immediately deduced that he had been with someone else.

And it broke his heart.

John turned around and his posture softened.

"John." Sherlock sighed, staring down at John's shoes. "Where were you?"

John turned around, frowning intensely.

"It doesn't matter, Sherlock." John said. "I'm back.

Without another word, John left the room. Sherlock sat on the couch, contemplating the entire situation.

Why would John betray him? Maybe it's the homophobic people...but how could others' opinions scar him so deeply that he went about and commit an unfaithful act? Was John really that weak minded?

It boggled Sherlock's mind. And he knew he had to deal with this later.

Sherlock lid back down on the couch, fighting all urges to break down.


	7. Confession

Chapter 6

John had woken up early the next day, sunlight breaking through the curtains and brightening the insides of his eyelids. He sat up, yawning and stretching at the same time. He looked to his right, expecting Sherlock to be lid down next to him, but he was caught off guard when he realized the space was vacant and neat, as if it hadn't been touched all night. John frowned, immediately standing up and leaving the bedroom.

He rubbed his eyes, heading towards the bathroom and then proceeding to brush his teeth and splash his face with water. Afterwards, he dragged himself to the living area, still half-asleep.

"Good morning, John." Sherlock said, coming in from the kitchen.

John turned around, startled that Sherlock woke up earlier than he did.

"Oh, good morning." John slurred, rubbing his eyes.

"Sleep well?" Sherlock queried, heading towards the couch with a cup of tea in hand.

"Uh, yes." John replied.

"Kettle's boiled." Sherlock informed him, and John went to the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of tea.

John couldn't help but feel awful. He hadn't told Sherlock where he was last night, thus he probably didn't know what he _did_. What he did was immoral and it would completely ruin Sherlock's trust in him.

John entered the living area, and sat down in his chair, gripping the mug tightly in his hands.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock inquired, frowning suspiciously at his partner.

John's eyes shifted from the mug to Sherlock's eyes and then back to the mug. "Just fine, Sherlock."

"You're shaky, your eyes are shifty and you haven't said much all morning." Sherlock observed, and John let out a short breath.

"Sh-Sherlock, I..."

"You were not honest with me, John. Actually, you have not said anything to me since yesterday afternoon. You left and you did not bother to respond to my messages or give me so much as a location! I was worried, John. Where were you?" Sherlock demanded, his colorful eyes completely focused on John.

John hesitated, what was he going to say? How should he say it? Certainly Sherlock would understand...no, no he probably wouldn't.

"I was at a coffee shop." John admitted, setting his cup of tea on the table. He clasped his hands together, desperately trying to stop his fingers from shaking.

Sherlock waited patiently for John to continue, even though he understood that John really did not want to say anything else, in fear of hurting Sherlock's feelings. But Sherlock was aware of the unfaithful act, and it didn't matter anymore, Sherlock would be hurt anyway.

"I was with Jen." John said, his heart pounding against his ribcage. All he could hear was the his heartbeat and the flow of blood in his ears/

Sherlock pressed his lips together, knowing well that what John was about to confess, would make him choke on his own breath.

"And I kissed her."


	8. Forgiveness

Chapter 7

"Sherlock, please." John pleaded.

Sherlock had his back turned, his back facing John and he stared at his black and white, oddly printed wallpaper. He stared down at the couch, his left arm crossed over his stomach as his right elbow rest against the forearm, his fingers stroking his bottom lip.

"You haven't spoken to me in a while...and, and I don't know what to do." John explained, his voice cracking.

Sherlock sighed, turning around. His eyes trained on John's. John looked sad, upset and it was visible in his eyes that he hated himself. He hated himself for what he had done. He was ashamed.

"I don't know what to say to you, John. I am disappointed." Sherlock muttered, walking past his partner. Obviously, Sherlock was more than just disappointed. He was angry, hurt and heartbroken. He had never been in this predicament before, so he didn't know what to do.

"What can I do, Sherlock?" John pleaded, desperately trying to do whatever it takes to gain Sherlock's trust back.

Sherlock tilted his head slightly in John's direction.

"I don't think there's anything you _can _do." Sherlock said, then left the room, leaving John in the middle of the room.

* * *

That night, all was silent in flat 221B. Sherlock was tapping away at the computer, no doubt creating new text posts on his blog and John was in the bedroom.

John sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged on the floor with his head resting in his hands. He had been sobbing, quietly, for a few minutes. The lights were off and the only source of light came from the slight crack in the door.

John felt helpless. He didn't know what to do. It has been nearly a week since either of them had a decent, civil conversation. John knew he made a mistake - a very big one - but he didn't know how to fix it - fix _them_. Sherlock didn't even want to speak to him anymore, all he ever did was go out, look through files that Lestrade had given him or stay on the computer. He didn't so much as glance at John anymore. It was as if John were invisible.

John closed his eyes, forcing himself not to shed another tear, but he broke down again. Tear after tear, it didn't seem like the crying was ever going to stop. And what was crying going to do for him? Nothing and he knew that.

John sniffed, swallowing hard passed the lump in his throat. He couldn't deal with Sherlock ignoring him or pretending he wasn't there. He couldn't deal with knowing he had been unfaithful, even if it was just a kiss. Kiss or not, it still happened.

The door creaked open slightly, long fingers curling around the edge of the door, opening it up just a little bit more. John didn't want to look up. He didn't want to look up at the person he had disappointed, hurt and betrayed. He didn't want to face him.

John felt like a child at that moment, all sitting on the floor, a load of self-pity and anger, anger towards himself, welled up inside him.

John noticed the shadow that cast across the ground, a silhouette of a tall man, with curly hair and a slim figure. Sherlock was staring at John, biting his lower lip hesitantly.

"John..." Sherlock whispered. And in that moment, he knew that he had to forgive John. He could see John's expression, and know that John was torturing himself as every second ticked by. Despite John's mistake, Sherlock will never forgive himself if he let John do that to himself another minute longer.

Sherlock sat beside John, and John pressed his lips together, desperately trying not to sob aloud. He missed the feeling of Sherlock being voluntarily close to him. He missed the way Sherlock said his name. He just missed their entire relationship as a whole.

That whole week without communication was enough for John to realize that he couldn't live with Sherlock.

"I'm so sorry!" John gasped, throwing himself into Sherlock's arms and clinging to him like his life depended on it.

Sherlock reluctantly wrapped his arms around him, pulling him in closer. He buried his face in John's hair, breathing in his scent.

"It's okay." Sherlock finally spoke, and he caught himself off guard with how depressing he sounded.

They stayed like that for a while, holding on to each other. Neither of them speaking another word.

And they didn't need to.


	9. Suspecting

Chapter 8

John and Sherlock managed to get themselves back up on their feet; their relationship was somewhat normal again. Although, both John and Sherlock had trust issues but they were fighting through it.

Especially John, who took things a step further. He began showing more signs of affection and he wouldn't go anywhere without Sherlock at his side. John couldn't trust himself.

Sherlock had received another case from Lestrade not too long ago, the first interesting case of the week.

"I've got a case." Sherlock announced gleefully.

"About?" John queried.

"Three murders; all female around the same age with their hearts removed." Sherlock smiled.

John cringed. "Removed?"

"Yes, removed, taken out, no longer there, whatever synonym you'd like to use. Finally, something interesting!" Sherlock declared, shrugging on his coat and tying up his scarf. "Aren't you coming?"

"Of course." John said, grabbing his coat.

They both left the flat. The crime scene was no more than one thousand meters away from their home so they decided to walk instead of wasting money on a taxi.

"Cheater!" Someone shouted from across the street, immediately grasping both John and Sherlock's attention.

"Ignore him." Sherlock stated, continuing to walk in the appropriate direction.

John swallowed, the single word stabbing at his mind a hundred times. He could never be able to forgive himself.

"Unfaithful!" A woman yelled from out of her car, speeding off in the opposite direction.

John licked his lips. "How do they know?" He queried.

"I'm not sure." Sherlock replied, masking his feel of uneasiness.

"Someone's telling people what happened. Did you say something? We can't have people knowing this sort of thing." John inquired, his tone strict.

Sherlock frowned. "Of course not. But I may know who did."

* * *

After visiting the crime scene, John decided to go back to the flat and tidy up, as it had been neglected due to emotional distraught. Sherlock decided to visit his brother, Mycroft.

Sherlock let himself into the building, storming his way up to his brother's office, barging in on Mycroft. Who was taking a phone call, and a personal one, at the sound of it.

"Did you do it?" Sherlock wasted no time asking questions.

Mycroft frowned at his brother. He covered his hand over the speaker of the phone. "I'm busy, Sherlock."

Sherlock marched over to the side of Mycroft's desk, rudely taking the phone from his hands and hanging up on the caller. Mycroft's eyes widened and his mouth was gaping.

"Sherlock!" Mycroft wailed.

"I _said_," Sherlock pressed. "did you do it?"

Mycroft sat back in his leather chair and clasped his hands together.

"I don't understand what you're talking about." Mycroft replied.

Sherlock sighed irritably. "Did you tell people about my relationship problems?"

Mycroft was taken aback and shook his head. "I wouldn't dare tell anyone."

Sherlock relaxed, believing his older brother entirely. There was no sign of bluffing in Mycroft's acts.

"Someone did. We were on our way to a scene and we were insulted. All insults aimed at John, precisely." Sherlock explained, licking his lips.

Mycroft shook his head again. "Sorry, little brother. But I have absolutely no idea how anybody could possibly know about your relationship problems. Unless..."

Sherlock's brain went into overdrive, Mycroft's unfinished sentence floating around in his mind, unlocking doors in his mind palace and releasing missed information.

"Jen." Sherlock breathed.

Mycroft smirked. "Smart boy."


	10. Mystery Man

**Hey guys, if you could take the time to review or comment, that would be fantastic. I hope I'm not boring you!**

* * *

Chapter 9

Sherlock returned to the flat, his mind pondering off in its own little world.

He swung the door open, expecting John to be asleep in the bedroom but found John sitting in his chair, with the telly on. It was quarter passed eleven.

"John, what are you doing up?" Sherlock asked, shrugging off his coat and laying it on his messy desk.

"I've been waiting for you to come back." John murmured quietly, flicking the telly off.

"Whatever for?" Sherlock questioned, sitting at his desk and rubbing his eyes.

"You were talking to Mycroft about this." John said, and it wasn't a question.

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, I told you that."

John licked his lower lip, crossing her arms over his chest and furrowed his brows.

"What did he say?" John inquired, pursing his lips.

Sherlock sighed, pressing his lips firmly together. Will John get upset if he told him that Jen could be the person to tell others? No matter who it was, John would be upset anyway. There would be no point in hiding it from him, especially if he's involved.

"He wasn't the one to say anything, but we both agreed that it might have been Jen." Sherlock admitted, carefully observing his partner.

John's entire body subsided, as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. He shook his head and his heart beat accelerated.

"She couldn't have said something." John muttered to himself.

"I don't know who else could have said anything, John." Sherlock said.

"It couldn't be her." John confirmed. "She wouldn't do that."

"John-"

"I'm going to bed, Sherlock. Good night." John left the room, leaving Sherlock in a state of wonder.

* * *

_He doesn't think Jen has_  
_anything to do with it._

_-SH_

_She's the only other_  
_individual who knows_  
_about this situation._

_-MH_

_He has his mind set._

_-SH_

_Gather evidence if you_  
_can, Sherlock. That will_  
_be the only way to_  
_convince him. Go visit_  
_her, this is her address: _  
_442, Union St. _  
_I have a meeting to_  
_get to, best of luck_

_-MH  
_

* * *

"Sod this!" John huffed under his breath.

John had woken up the next morning feeling like crap. John woke up sick that morning, and he had been in the bathroom for nearly two hours, puking up nothing. He attempted to call Mrs Hudson for help, or at least get his phone to tell Sherlock that he wasn't feeling well, but he was too weak to move.

And so, John Watson stayed in the bathroom, hoping Sherlock would come home soon.

* * *

Sherlock made his way to Union Street and let himself in the flat that belonged to Jen.

He knocked three times on her door, hearing light footsteps on the other side. The door swung open, and there stood a short brunette with a curious look on her face. Then an expression of complete realization washed over her and her face fell.

"Mr Holmes." She greeted him shyly.

Sherlock nodded once and entered her flat once she widened the entrance a little more. Sherlock stood in the living room as Jen came in and sat on her sofa, her eyes trailing to the couch where John Watson once sat.

"I'm taking that John told you what happened." She pressed her lips together, looking down. She rubbed her inner thighs with her hands, feeling uncomfortable with the presence of Sherlock Holmes in the room.

"He did." Sherlock spoke for the first time since his arrival.

Jen looked up at Sherlock apologetically, her eyes curving upwards and her bottom lip quivering involuntarily.

"I'm sorry." She whispered, her eyes never leaving him.

Sherlock remained sullen. "John told me it wasn't your fault."

Jen looked away, her breathing labored and shallow.

"I believe him." Sherlock stated. Jen abruptly looked up at the man, finding a hint of forgiveness in his eyes. Sherlock wasn't one to hold grudges over people. He didn't like wasting his time that way.

"Thank you." She murmured, closing her eyes for a moment.

"But that is not the reason why I am here." Sherlock continued, pacing the length of the room.

Jen frowned in confusion, staring up at the man, bewildered. "What's the reason?"

Sherlock had his arms behind his back, refreshing his memory with his recent conversations with Mycroft and John, regarding Jen's position in all of this.

"I have reason to believe that you told people about the little mishap between you and John." Sherlock said, carefully scrutinizing Jen.

Jen shook her head. "No, I wouldn't tell anybody. It isn't my place to tell and I was hoping to put it all behind me."

Her answer was noble, and Jen clearly was the type of person who liked to keep a clean slate when it comes to her friendships with others. Sherlock took note that Jen was also an actress, judging by all the self-portraits and head shots hung up on the walls. Actors and actresses wouldn't dare ruin their reputation by spreading rumors, that is, if they are serious with their work and tend to make a career out of it.

"Alright." Sherlock concluded. "Well, thank you for your time."

Jen stood up, escorting Sherlock to the door. "No, thank you for coming and clearing this up. I'm sorry this happened."

Sherlock stepped out and gave Jen a genuine smile before leaving, and heading back towards the flat.

If Jen nor Mycroft is a possible suspect anymore...

Then who is?


	11. Paramedics

Chapter 10

Sherlock walked back to Baker Street instinctively - he didn't need to think, he was his own GPS.

He barged into 221B and skipped two stairs at a time. He pushed the door open and walked in, hanging up his coat and scarf. He spun around the room, and detected that nothing has been touched or moved since he left. That means that John hadn't been there.

Curiously, Sherlock barged through their only bedroom to find that John wasn't there either.

"John?" Sherlock called out. Seconds later, he heard muffled groans echo from the bathroom and immediately, he made his way to the bathroom. "John, are you-" His words were cut short as he saw John laying on the ground, tears streaking down his face.

"Sherlock, I-"

"We need to get you to a hospital." Sherlock said instantly, his fingers trembling as he reached for John.

John couldn't get up. In fact, he was too weak to get up. In a state of panic, which didn't happen very often for Sherlock, he reached for John's cell phone, which was appropriately placed on the counter top and he immediately dialled and demanded for an ambulance.

A few minutes later, the blaring of sirens could be heard in the distance and Mrs. Hudson rushed upstairs, a worried look on her face.

"Sherlock, what happened?" She queried, scurrying towards the bathroom, where Sherlock held John in his arms. "Oh my..."

"Mrs. Hudson, the ambulance should be here in thirty seconds, please stand outside and wave them in."

Without questioning John's condition, she nodded quickly and rushed downstairs and followed Sherlock's instructions. As predicted, thirty seconds had passed and the paramedics were in his flat, already taking care of John.

They brought John outside and placed him on a guernsey and putting him in the back of the ambulance. Sherlock rode along, flashing them the stolen police identification that he pick-pocketed from Lestrade. The paramedics eyed Sherlock and John, and Sherlock knew that they knew about their relationship troubles. Sherlock ignored them.

As they made their way into the hospital, Sherlock stared hopelessly at John. John was unconscious at this point, and Sherlock didn't know what he could do for his partner. There really was nothing he could do but make pointless deductions about John's symptoms. But every time he tried to do that, he came up blank, his mind empty and black, like an endless black hole. This was something he didn't know about.

And that worried him more than anything.


	12. Perspective

Chapter 11

Impatiently waiting outside the hospital room, Sherlock paced the lengthy, bright white hallway. He frowned, his left arm crossed his chest while his right rested on it, his chin resting between his thumb and his index finger. He was thinking, opening up every single door of his mind palace, trying to scrape as much information as possible.

At that moment, John was going through series of tests and the doctors were examining every part of his body. John was still unconscious, laying on the hospital bed while the doctors left the hospital room, eyeing Sherlock curiously as he walked past them.

Sherlock walked up to John's room, standing in the window. The doctors left the door unlocked and he could easily slip in the room and back out before anybody noticed, but John did need his rest and if Sherlock disturbed him, he'd wake up. He needs to rest. Gritting his teeth, Sherlock caved and quietly opened the door, entering the room and standing next to John's bed.

This was a bad. This was really bad. Sherlock could figure out who was the murderer of a killing just by looking at the victim. He memorized every element of the periodic table including their mass, protons and initial. He could tell who your ancestors were, what they did and where they came from just by glancing at you for a mere second. But he couldn't figure out what's wrong with John. This was new to him, an area that he didn't bother to immerse his advanced brain in.

Sherlock touched John's arm while listening to the beeping of the heart monitor. It accelerated and Sherlock recoiled his hand. John's awake.

"Sher...Sherlock..."

"John."

John's eyes were droopy, but he still stared at Sherlock with concern.

"Are you okay?" John asked, sensing something is wrong.

"Forget about me! Are you all right?" Sherlock inquired, frowning slightly.

John sighed lightly. "I, uh...I'm...I'm..." And within a few seconds, John was welcomed back into unconsciousness. Sherlock pressed his lips together, stared at John for a second, then left the hospital room.

John should be out for a few more hours. Which means that he still had some time to figure out who the hell was spreading rumors and assumptions about their relationship, which was still a big concern on Sherlock's list. John was definitely his top priority.

Sherlock took his phone out and noticed he had one unread message.

_Sherlock, there's been a mysterious  
letter sent to your flat a couple of  
hours ago._

-MH

Sherlock narrowed his eyes and replied quickly.

_Mysterious how?_

-SH

The text messages remained constant for a few minutes.

_It was a black letter and it was  
sealed with golden wax._

_-MH_

_It's past three. The mail does not_  
_deliver past eleven in the morning._  
_Figure out who delivered it._

_-SH_

_Already done. Lucky I installed_  
_cameras near your flat, otherwise_  
_I wouldn't be able to figure out_  
_who delivered it._

_-MH_

A minute later, Sherlock received a phone call. He sighed as he answered it.

"I do not like phone calls, Mycroft." Sherlock sighed.

"It is much more efficient than texting." Mycroft replied.

"Why?" Sherlock continued.

"Why what?" Mycroft asked, obliviously.

Sherlock sighed again. "Why wouldn't have you been able to figure out who delivered the letter if it were not for your cameras?"

"Because it seemed that every other camera had completely lost signal. It was blank when I had my sources go through it today. Everybody's a suspect now, Sherlock." Mycroft informed.

"Description." Sherlock commanded.

"Late thirties, around six feet tall, wore a black coat and black pants and rather muscular. No facial description. Unfortunately, my cameras were not placed conveniently." Mycroft said.

"Saved." Sherlock muttered, hanging up.

Sherlock's mind wandered for a while. So the suspect was close enough to notice the cameras on Baker Street, but not close enough to notice the private cameras Mycroft had installed near Sherlock's flat. The suspect was careful not to face in the direction of the camera...does that mean that the suspect was aware of Mycroft's camera in the first place? Did they want to get caught? Obviously it was more than one person doing this to Sherlock, and a black letter is rather suspicious. With the things going on, everybody's a suspect. It was important to find out who knew what was going on in their personal lives and who was leaking that information out into the public's ears.

Sherlock escaped from his mind palace and started walking towards Baker Street, eager to open the letter.

It's time to look through the suspected suspect's perspective.


	13. Diagnosis

Chapter 12

Sherlock marched towards his flat with a quickened pace. He wasted no time unlocking the door to 221B and slamming the door behind him. He made his way up to his flat and walked towards his desk, where Mrs. Hudson always left the mail for him whenever he wasn't around to retrieve it himself.

As expected, the letter with the golden seal was sitting on his desk. Sherlock picked it up, examining it through the light that came through his window. Sherlock deducted that there were no harmful materials inside this thin letter. Picking up his pocket knife, he swiftly cut the letter open to reveal a sandy colored paper with writing written in Calligraphy. Someone had taken time to make it look elegant and use ink from an old well. By the looks of the technique, this person had use a Calligraphy pen rather than an old fashioned Quill. How boring.

The letter was folding twice, and Sherlock unfolded it, beginning to read it immediately.

**_You are in for a world of hurt, Sherlock Holmes._**__

Sherlock looked up from the letter. Surely it was short, but it made no sense in his mind. What did this person mean he was 'in for a world of hurt'?

Throwing the letter back down onto his desk, he made a mental note that we would scan for finger prints later, which he will probably ask Lestrade or Mycroft to do for him. Sherlock was a genius and did not want to waste his time doing things that he could have others do for him. Most would say he was a user, but Sherlock would say he was resourceful.

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone rang and he answered it, irritated. God, he hated phone calls.

"Sherlock Holmes?" A woman's voice called from the other end.

"Speaking?" Sherlock replied.

"This is the nurse from St. Bartholomew Hospital. This is an urgent phone call and it would be greatly appreciated that you make your way here as soon as possible. A doctor would like to confide with you." She explained.

Sherlock hung up on the nurse and frowned deeply. The only reason they would call him is if John was in some sort of trouble, seeing as he the only person he cared about in the hospital. John. Oh god, was the illness serious?

Quietly panicking about his mate, Sherlock hailed for a taxi and demanded he be taken to St Bart's hospital in under five minutes. The taxi driver obliged and sped, mostly because Sherlock sort of threatened the driver that he might cut off his toes and soak them in milk for an experiment.

Once they arrived at the hospital, Sherlock threw money at the driver and ran inside the old building. The doors flew open and a gust of wind followed Sherlock, making his coat raise behind him like a cape as he marched down the hallway and towards John's room. He knew that's where the doctor would be.

Soon enough, he was in front of John's room and right he was, the doctor was standing over a sleeping John with a clipboard in his hand, jotting down notes and shaking his head with a worried expression on his face, making his face look more aged.

"Sherlock Holmes." The doctor greeted the detective.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked, impatiently.

The small smile that was on the doctor's face fell quickly. He looked down at John and sighed, sadly. Sherlock couldn't detect why the doctor seemed so...sad and apologetic. Sherlock examined John, who was tucked underneath the thin covers, the heart monitor beeping steadily. At least John's alive.

"I have terrible news, Mr. Holmes." The doctor said, looking away from Sherlock's intense stare. "I believe John Watson has a serious illness, and he will require a lot of attention and therapy."

Sherlock's eyes widened and flashed to the doctor. "Therapy? What kind of therapy?"

A moment of silence flew by.

"Doctor, tell me what is wrong with John Watson or I will guarantee your license be revoked." Sherlock threatened through his teeth, his glare hardening.

"This isn't always the easiest part for some people." The doctor chortled, nervously. "But I'm afraid this is the truth, it's the circle of life and at least we caught it on time. Perhaps with a little treatment, he might feel better but I do not guarantee-"

"Spit it out!" Sherlock growled.

"John Watson has stomach cancer."


End file.
